10 Things I Should Have Done Today And Why I Didn’t

1. Eat a healthy breakfast.

I struggled long and hard with this one, avoiding the kitchen so that I wouldn’t suddenly shove a Ding Dong in my mouth while guzzling a 2-liter of Coke. I purposely stayed in the home office and worked on my website, ignoring the beck and call of the dancing Pop Tarts and singing Girl Scout cookies coming from the pantry. I even turned off the radio because every third commercial involved deep-fried something or other at a nearby drive-thru. I was diligent and remained true to the cause.

But after five soul-killing minutes, I had had enough.

I yelled for Terry to throw his ass in the shower, and fifteen minutes later we were barreling down the road to Luby’s with the intensity of that creepy blond-haired guy with the cigarette in “Fargo”. We squealed into the parking lot and raced inside, easily passing several senior citizens piling off a church bus and trying to figure out where they were.

Once inside, I marched past the doctor-recommended veggie egg-white omelet, and firmly planted myself in front of the meat-lover’s omelet station, peeing on the floor to mark my territory and barking at the startled server that she better pile that plate HIGH. We then raced to a table, throwing some cash in the general direction of the cashier and already yelling at the waitress what we wanted for the second round. My plate had a layer of grease so thick that the omelet was skittering around like a hovercraft and trying to get the fork into it was like spear-fishing. Pure bliss.

2. Mow the lawn.

I haven’t done this so far this year, so why screw with tradition? Besides, there’s still a two-foot layer of dead leaves on the ground from last fall that I haven’t raked up. Ain’t no grass growin’ THERE.

3. Wash my car.

Pointless. It’s just going to rain again eventually. And we all know that dirt and rust is all that’s keeping that car together anyway.

4. Work on my taxes.

After searching the entire house for at least three seconds, I was unable to find a working black or blue ink pen. I took this as a sign from Jesus that he did not want me to do anything financially responsible today. I shoved the W-2’s into a desk drawer, where they will probably remain until 11:59p on April 14th. I chose not to acknowledge the two pens that were rolling about in that same drawer, because one should stick to a plan once they have it.

5. Clean out the guest bedroom closet.

This one has caused me considerable mental agitation. I hate that closet. I have tried to tidy it up on many occasions, even going so far as to buy some cute mini-shelving for better organization. But every attempt goes the same way. I drag everything out until the guest bed is loaded down with what looks like the “after” photo of a tornado incident, I finally decide that I can part with one single item, the rest of the stuff remains on the bed for a week, and then I shove everything, minus the one, back into the closet. I basically accomplish nothing.

It’s just too much to deal with. Today I slid the door open, grimaced, and then slammed it shut. End of effort. I chose to ignore the gleaming package of ballpoint pens perched on top of an afghan made out of corn stalks and horse hair, a gift from a poor but creative relative that I don’t really know. If I part with THAT, there will be heated discussions at future family reunions.

6. Fix the counter-weight pulley on the attic door.

This has been broken for a while, and I really need to do something about it, because sooner or later somebody is going to be killed in the main hallway, and I really don’t have time for that. See, these pulley things balance the weight of the door and folded-up stairs so the whole thing gently descends when you grasp the trap door handle whilst wearing something cute and intending to place a box of Christmas ornaments into high-altitude storage.

When one of the pulleys is broken, the trap door becomes a death trap. It opens deceptively easily at first, lowering cooperatively while birds sing and virgins remain pure. Then we reach a tipping point, and suddenly folded wood the weight of a Buick is smashing your skull into the floor. Not good.

But have you ever tried to climb attic stairs when your belly is full of meat-lovers omelets? It just can’t be done. So instead, I just flipped off the attic door as I walked down the hallway and continued not doing my taxes.

7. NOT play any Facebook games.

This didn’t happen.

8. Finish up all those blog posts where I ended with “To Be Continued” but then never posted the next installment.

Ummm….

9. Start using the treadmill again.

I actually made minimal effort with this one. I marched into the room where we have shoved the treadmill and studied it carefully. Then I noticed a thick layer of dust on that rolling belt where you walk, and that our cat, Scotch, had apparently been using the belt to do a line dance, and that his cute little paw prints had somehow recreated the “Mona Lisa” in exquisite detail. Well, I certainly couldn’t live with myself if I denied anyone the chance to view great works of art. So I turned off the light and left the room.

10. Write a fresh blog post.

Hey, I actually got one done. I think I deserve a treat. Or maybe a nap. Or both. After all, tomorrow is another day, filled with responsibilities to avoid, and I need the carbs and rest….

15 More Smarmy Things To Say to Your Significant Other That You Deeply Love But Still Want To Slap Sometimes

1. “Can you help me understand why that pair of underwear has been in the same spot for two weeks now? Is it a memorial of some kind? Are we not allowed to touch it, like the state flower when it grows by the side of the road?”

2. “It is SO sweet of you to designate that pretty glass bowl as the new home for our car keys and wallets. Very efficient and space-saving of you. Now, in the future, could you possibly send out a memo when you decide to do these things? Preferably well in advance of me needing to get to an important appointment ON TIME. Your surprise redecorating has indirectly resulted in a small foreclosure on this house. But the bowl IS pretty.”

3. “Why are we watching this movie? Again. For the 12th time. Was there a recall and they changed the ending?”

4. “Dumplin’, allow me to break this down for you. If you feed the cat THIS, then the litter box is going to look like THAT. Please tell me you finally understand the connection. Otherwise I’m leaving.”

5. “Yes, I understand that you like bold, dramatic color schemes, and that I seek comfort in stark white when it comes to interior paint. It’s only fair that we work together and come to an all-satisfying compromise. But Sweetie, I just don’t think I can go on with life if there is something called “Xanadu Eggplant with Leg-Warmer Trim” coating my walls. I just can’t bear it. Let’s be agreeable about something else, shall we?”

6. “I don’t care for thousand island dressing. We will never talk about this again.”

7. “I’m just curious, Poodle. What aspect of my clothing choices, facial expressions, angry blog posts and, well, upbringing in general, would make you think I would willingly go along with your decision to have the rose bush removed on the side of the house? Seriously.”

8. “But I’ve always parked in that same spot. For roughly 400 years. Did you really think I wouldn’t notice that you changed the game? And I don’t CARE if you had to get the verging-on-expiration milk into the fridge. Quit buying day-old dairy. And park in your own damn space. God.”

9. “Here’s what I’m observing. Every day, you come in the back door after work, then race to the front of the house to check the mail before you even turn off the alarm, stomping on the cat and knocking me aside as I stand there with my lips pursed for a welcoming kiss. What the HELL are you expecting in the mailbox? Hillary Clinton?”

10. “Oh, no. No. Not at all. We are no longer qualified to wear sleeveless t-shirts. The bloom is long gone. You could take an eye out with that swinging flesh. We must now sit chastely at dinner parties and hope a body part doesn‘t fall off before coffee is served.”

11. “I never signed up for compromise in a relationship. That was in my online profile. I can’t help it if your Internet connection went down. Pay your bills.”

12. “No, she’s YOUR friend, I’M not the one who invited her over. Don’t you be bringing her psychotic hallucinations up in here. Wait, what was that? She works at Macy’s and has an employee discount? I love you SO much. Go answer the door while I hide the sharp knives.”

13. “Darling, please take a look at this brochure. Isn’t it festive? It’s from Oprah’s people. I’d like you to pay special attention to Page 3. That’s where trained specialists explain that, when two people in a relationship are discussing food-consumption arrangements, the initial question of ‘What would you like for dinner?’ should NOT be rebutted with ‘Well, what would YOU like for dinner‘? This leads to madness and nobody getting to eat what they really want.”

14. “Who ARE you right now? Have you been comparing notes with Linda Blair?”

15. “Please leave your message at the beep. But the beeper thing is broken, and your words will be lost forever in an abyss of darkness and non-validation. Which means that I win this round. Again. Thank you for playing. Don’t come again. Oh, but could you pick up some milk when you go to the Crow-Eating store? The jug in the fridge smells sour…”

Backup Dancers From Hell: Lady Gaga - “Born This Way”

Note: I will be constantly biting my tongue all through this review. The buzz is already all over the place that the sound and structure of this song is WAY too conveniently familiar to Madonna’s “Express Yourself”, and now Lady Gaga is pushing the envelope as far as she can by taking images from that video, and Madonna icons in general, and twisting them around. It’s a fine line that Gaga is walking in her lace-up stiletto boots. And here we go…

We start off with the cinematic imagery being framed in a pink V, so, since this is Gaga, I’ll have to assume that she’s doing some type of vulva tribute. There’s a unicorn mucking about, and then we have a contortionist woman appear on screen wearing an odd frozen Amadeus mask with her arms or possibly her legs chained up behind her. Oh wait, the camera spins around while princess music plays and we see that the mask is actually on the back of Gaga’s head, and that somebody has applied so much eyeliner to her real face that Gaga looks like she just showed up at a methadone clinic.

We get a voice-over babbling about the “Manifesto of Mother Monster”, and the voice proceeds to tell us a very extended version of somebody getting pregnant among the intergalactic stars. It’s apparently a very important birth, since there are lots of flowers floating around and pretty music. Next we have images of what MIGHT be the actual birth, with presumably vaginal explosions coming at us front and center, but you never really know with a Gaga video.

As trampy midwives assist with the delivery, we also learn that there’s some type of placental battle between good and evil, which requires that we see the image of George Washington wearing blue eye-shadow whilst shooting out of a womb. (I may never eat another marshmallow again.) The delivery finally comes to fruition, I think, and we see Gaga in a row of heads, with Gaga being the only one that looks slightly cute, but “cute” is relative when the other heads are dripping masses of undeveloped goo.

Next we have some mess with red-tinted bodies doing some type of pornographic line dance choreographed by Satan, leading to a stunning image where I do believe that we see some random penises. Not really sure about that part, but I’ve seen a few of those things in my time and I’m fairly certain we have wands waving.

Cut to Lady Gaga astraddle some device that requires her to spread her legs really wide. Oh, and also give birth to something demonic with an un-pretty face. (It was probably not a good day for her, just sayin.) The now-getting-irritating voice-over woman keeps chattering away about the good and evil thing, but we really aren’t paying attention because the current Gaga onscreen is breaking water in a very dramatic way while a nose-ringed demon shows us his teeth.

Post-birth, Gaga pulls out a machine gun and starts shooting at anything that moves. I’m guessing she didn’t really enjoy her time in the stirrups. Then we cut to Gaga waving her machine gun about while letting high-velocity fans whip her hair all over the place. Based on the billowing hairstyle and non-ample cleavage, I’m guessing Gaga is really pissed about Shelly Hack being hired for “Charlie’s Angels” and not her.

Shelly Gaga disappears from the screen, and we close in on what at first appears to be odd frogs in a herringbone pattern. As the camera nears, we learn that the frogs are actually people bent over in a squatting position, possibly praying to Gaga and her amazing ability to color-coordinate birthing scenes. Next thing you know, Gaga shows up, wearing basically nothing except tattoos, and she tromps about among the frog people while the voice-over woman deals with static electricity and the start of the actual music, nearly three minutes into this “Battlestar Gagatica” episode.

Gaga, somehow looking like Gwyneth Paltrow and Dusty Springfield had a love child, parades around in her underwear so we can see how thin you can be when people must obey all your commands. Gaga temporarily assumes the frog position with her acolytes, which causes them to come to life so they can join her in a dancing tribute to individuality and the ability to wear your panties in public.

While Gaga and the Frog People cavort, we get images of another Gaga who likes intricate hairstyles and flowing gowns. (And possibly the consumption of grapes. I’m really not sure WHAT she’s shoving into her mouth.) The Frog People like to stroke their crotches whilst gyrating to the beat, with such an energetic frenzy that we should probably look into this activity as an alternative to fossil fuel.

Gaga and her gold-chain-adorned panties keep dancing with the Frog People for quite some time, which allows us to study the latest dance moves, most of which involve waving your arms so that people can see your belly button. And your freshly-trimmed pubic hair. At least these people are neat and tidy.

Throughout all this… exuberance… we keep getting shots of Gaga as the Interplanetary Queen Who Wears A Stupid Veil. The Gaga Queen appears to have some personal animosity toward… well, everyone… so I’m not sure that she’ll win the Student Council election. Meanwhile, the Frog People continue to strut around with a complete lack of concern about what the Non-Frog People might think.

Cut to Gaga in a tuxedo, with her face done up like a skeleton and an odd patch of pinkish hair sprouting out of the side of her head. It seems that this Gaga has an equally-skeletal dance partner who is not all that interested in dancing with her. He prefers to just stand there and look studly despite his nose-ring and creepy pantyhose skull cap. While Skeletal Gaga tries to get a rise out of her undead, uninterested companion, we get shots of another Gaga bathing in a writhing sea of undulating bodies where everybody is invested in having sex with any protuberance whatsoever. (Are we suddenly at the Clinton mansion in Arkansas? Not sure.)

Skeletal Gaga grabs at her crotch while her bored friend grabs at nothing, then we cut to Frog People Gaga still stirring up the troops, and Orgy Gaga embracing one of her sex-mates with a beatific expression as if she’s only having random sex to help lost souls find their way to Jesus. Uh huh.

Then we go back to Lady Gaga’s head wearing that Martha Washington wig while people decompose around her, and we learn that this Gaga does have an actual body, only with zippers in places that really shouldn’t have zippers. Martha Gaga tries to do some dance moves, interspersed with Lisa Kudrow, I mean Frog-People Gaga finally losing all inhibitions (like THAT was a stretch) and dancing like there’s nothing in the known universes that can satisfy her crotchly needs.

And more of Martha/Zipper Gaga touching herself unjustly, and I decide that I don’t ever want to see another woman wear a powdered wig, especially when we transition to even more vulvic images of something else giving birth in a startlingly creamy manner. Quick flash of Frog Gaga’s booty, then more with the snatch-destroying violent births. Really, Gaga? Do you not understand that a big chunk of your fan base is not interested in what might come out of your cooter?

And now things go a little crazy. (As if they hadn’t already, just making a relative statement.) We head back to Frog Gaga and her barely-there undergarments, where people are rushing about in preparation for another random opportunity for Gaga to prove that she can find couture that does not adequately cover her ass. This Gaga prances around and makes love to the floor to show her personal dedication to the rights of skinny people to rule the world via music, song and liberation of clothing.

So we head to another line dance, where Gaga and the Frog People are sashaying about and waving their arms, but I’m still not seeing any plus-sized supermodels that have been allowed onto the set. I’m certainly not one to limit an artist’s vision, but really G-Girl, could you possibly put someone in your videos that has actually eaten pizza in their lives?

Gaga responds by making a self-masturbation gesture with her legs spread wide.

Okay, then. Maybe not.

We’re back at that massive orgy, where pretty people are doing things near Gaga’s silken thighs while at the same time appearing to be clawing their way out of the earth, perhaps in search of blood-infused people who haven’t seen “True Blood” and don’t understand that just because somebody talks to you in an alley, you shouldn’t proffer your neck as a potential appetizer. Unless, of course, you’re really tired of that daylight thing.

The Frog People are still line-dancing, although at this point it’s really a matter of jazz hands and bared nipples. Next up is a montage of Frog Gaga being really exuberant with her arms despite the fact that her gold panty necklace is banging against her thighs and surely making dancing a bit difficult. Frog Gaga compensates by thrusting her arms about in a manner similar to Joan Jett from back in the day when she still loved rock and roll and apparently hadn’t yet dined at the Lesbos Café.

Back to Skeletal Gaga and her uninterested mate. She whips her hair around enough that Bored Supermodel allows Gaga to nuzzle him a bit so she‘ll quit trying to take flight. Then we have a quick shot of Skeletal Gaga rolling her eyes back in her head, and the image is so severe that I’m not sure I can ever listen to “Bad Romance” again.

Now we start jumping around all over the place, with flashes of Frog Gaga, Skeletal Gaga, Brazilian-Wax Gaga, and I-Am-Too-Scared-To-Party-With-HER Gaga. Oh, and don’t forget Martha Gaga and Massive-Orgy-With-Wet-Paint Gaga. All the colors of the gagabow.

We wind things down with Skeletal Gaga in an intimate shot, looking like two butch guys battling for supremacy (got a little hot with THAT mess), and a new Gaga or… who knows who she is… prancing around with day-glo gloves in an alley. Quick shot of a crying Gaga with a severe haircut, and then we return to the pink triangle, now inverted. Something’s on fire, who knows what, then we have a final image of Skeletal Gaga blowing a bubble with her gum.

Holy cow.



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